Recovery
by midnightmayhem11
Summary: Set after Series 5 finale,like an alternate Season 6. Cuddy gets some terrible news about House and something that has happened in Mayfield. Can she help him, or is it all too late? Better han it sounds ,please review to make me a happy Huddy bunny!xxxx
1. Learning

**Okay, so this is one of my VERY FIRST HOUSE FANFICTIONS so obviously it's not going to be as fabulous as most of the other one's on here. :)**

**There's a lot of thinking, and I haven't yet had the chance to scar you all with OOC Cuddy (only joking!) but please please review!!! I can update regularly if people want me to.**

**And before anyone bitches and complains about it...**

**Yes it does end on a cliffhanger- tough. And yeah, it's short. Review and there will be more!**

**And yes, I am new to writing House fanfiction, but that doesn't mean you can all be mean and critical (I have a friend on a different site who announced she was new to writing House fiction and everyone was horrible, because they thought they could tell her what to do and how crap it was.) I've been writing fanfiction for years. I have about five other accounts. I know what I'm doing.**

**Please be nice, and review!**

**xxx**

The call came when she was in a staff meeting. She had no real idea what the meeting was about- she hadn't even known there _was_ a meeting before she arrived late at work, and Foreman told her the news. Now she was here, she wasn't exactly concentrating. For one thing, she had a headache- whoever said it was easy to get to sleep with a baby crying in the same room was very _very _wrong. All Cuddy wanted to do was slink off to her office and spend the day alone, free of interruptions whilst she worked.

And there of course was the second reason her mind wasn't focussed fully on the meeting; the loss of the biggest interruption in her life. The seat on her left hand side was empty- no jacket slung over the back, no sarcastic comments coming from the person that should have sat there, no dirty looks being thrown in the direction of the constant spinning of a cane…

House hadn't liked attending the meetings; it was something she had encouraged him to do. And "encouraged" of course meant bullied, blackmailed, and threatened with suspension and hours in the clinic until he grudgingly agreed, with one finally insult concerning her baby, her outfit, or a pointed glance at "the twins."

But no he wasn't sat beside her because he couldn't be, not because he didn't want to be. Would he rather be here, sat beside her listening to the board members reading out problems with the budget- or locked away in a hospital?

The more rational part of Lisa Cuddy, the Doctor Lisa Cuddy part told herself that his stay in Mayfield would help House more than it would hurt him. The worst that could happen was that he came out furious with everybody and still addicted. So what was the best thing that could happen? That he came out full of smiles and thanks to everyone, full of apologies to Cuddy? She tried to imagine House, tried to imagine a conversation with House that wasn't split into sarcastic comments and him swallowing a few Vicodin. She couldn't see it, personally.

Whenever she tried to think about the House that would eventually return, her mind flickered back to the House that had left; terrified, empty, crushed. She hadn't understood what he was saying, but that didn't matter- it was clear that something was wrong with him, clear he needed help. She couldn't help him. A few kind words and a strictly friendly hug couldn't fix him. He looked broken- he _was_ broken. He was _ill_.

Cuddy coughed and tapped her manicured fingers onto the tabletop as the people around her argued. She thought about House, and what he would be doing now. What was there to do Mayfield? She wondered. She wondered whether he was happy. Obviously, he wouldn't be. He wasn't happy even when he was here. She wondered if he was comfortable. What defined comfort for House? Food. Familiar clothes. Music. Sarcasm. Vicodin. Well, there was one he wouldn't have, she thought to herself with a wry inward smile. Wilson wouldn't tell her exactly how House was, but he had told her that he was "fine." Cuddy knew that Wilson didn't go to see his friend, instead talking to him occasionally on the phone. House was a talented liar. Just because he told Wilson he was fine didn't mean he actually was. Wilson didn't seem too worried though. She knew that the doctors called him daily to update him on House's progress, and she was tempted to call them and ask them to do the same for her, but it wouldn't feel right. Wilson was House's best friend. She was his boss. What right did she have to see how he was doing?

Cuddy sat up straighter and tried to concentrate. It was still impossible. She just couldn't get absorbed into this, the chatter and arguments that were so familiar to her. She was jittery, and it was a task forcing herself to stay still. She hadn't had any caffeine this morning, so she shouldn't be like this. _It's all this worrying about House,_ she told herself stubbornly, with the air of a disapproving mother, _He's fine. All he has to do is quit the Vicodin. Then he can come back._

"Doctor Cuddy? What are your opinions?" She jumped with surprise and looked across at the bearded doctor sat opposite her. She was aware of the others waiting for her comment. An answer to a question she hadn't even heard.

"Excuse me?"

The bearded doctor sighed impatiently.

"What are you opinions on Dean Browns idea's of changing aspects of the recovery program at local hospitals to save money that could be invested into other areas of the medical industry?"

Cuddy straightened up and coughed politely, switching into Doctor mode.

"Well-" She began professionally, but before she could finish her sentence she was cut off by the sound of a phone ringing. It was Wilson, sat beside her, looking sheepish.

"I'm sorry about this, excuse me." He threw an apologetic look at her before getting up and leaving her to face the opposition by herself. Traitor. She watched him through the glass doors as he answered his phone.

"Dr Cuddy?"

She collected her thoughts.

"Well, of course we need to take Brown's ideas into consideration before making any decisions, but…" Wilson was looking agitated now, running his hands through his hair as he paced on the thick carpet. Cuddy looked back down at her notes.

"He needs to understand that more money is required nowadays in the recovery process, especially with certain categories-" Now Wilson looked angry. Cuddy wondered who was on the other side of the call, but turned her attention back to the topic at hand. "So, maybe if we make a compromise; show him that the ideas can work both ways without the whole thing ending badly-"

"Lisa?" It was Wilson, slipping his head back into the board room. "Can I have a word, please? Now?"

His voice conveyed the urgency of his request. She hesitated, then nodded, standing up and smoothing out the fabric of her skirt.

"Would you excuse me for a second? " She asked and as the men nodded she walked round the table to the door. As she was outside, they were beginning to discuss the case in further detail. She shut the door carefully.

Wilson's hair was standing on edge and the expression on his face made her wary. She kept her voice calm, cool and professional as she asked, "What is it? What's wrong?"

"It's House." He said and immediately her stomach flipped. Could he see how much those two little words had affected her? Cuddy knew what was coming next wasn't good news.

"What about him?" Her voice wasn't calm or professional any more- it was higher than usual, nervous. Wilson opened his mouth; no words escaped.

"Tell me, Wilson. " She ordered and he clasped his hands together.

"It's House. He's tried to commit suicide."


	2. Arriving

"**Suicide?" Cuddy repeated, and she couldn't conceal the way her voice shook as she spoke. Wilson reached out a hand onto her shoulder to steady her as she covered her face with her hands. When she pulled them away, Wilson was looking at her with a worried expression. She was sure that the fear in his eyes mirrored the terror in hers.**

"**How-" She began desperately, but she could see the men in the conference room turning to look for the source of the noise through the glass doors, and it brought her somewhat back down to earth.**

**Cuddy gestured towards a nearby side room. "In here." She told Wilson, and he followed her into it, shutting the door quietly behind him, and leaning against the panelled wood. **

**A minute or so passed. It felt more like years, as the silence echoed through the room, the only noise being the rhythmic ticking of the clock on the wall, and the thudding of Cuddy's heart that rang out through her ears. Part of her wanted to speak; another was dreading what Wilson had to tell her.**

**She had just opened her mouth when he turned, pushing his fingers through his already messy hair.**

"**Is he-"**

"**He's alive. The doctors found him in time." Wilson watched as Cuddy sighed, pressing her hand to her forehead, closing her eyes, before he added-"Just."**

"_**Thank God**_**." Cuddy breathed. She leaned against the table in the centre of the room. "Thank God. If he…if he had-"**

"**I know." Wilson moved towards the woman before him. "I know."**

**Cuddy grimaced slightly at him; it could have been a smile, it could have been a frown, Wilson wasn't sure. All Cuddy knew was how thankful she was towards this man for telling her this, instead of just letting her carry on as usual, ignorant to everything. **

**She reached out and pulled him to her. Cuddy wrapped her arms around Wilson and he reciprocated her hug. As they embraced, her emotions changed, and the relief she had felt just a few seconds earlier was taken over by something deeper and darker; anger, burning fury. Wilson felt her tense and pulled away, holding her at arms length so that she couldn't evade his gaze or his questions.**

"**How could he have tried this?" He asked her, and his voice with low and thick with disbelief. Cuddy understood Wilson clearly, with a clarity she had never experienced before. She had just that very second been thinking of the same thing, but as soon as the question left his lips, she automatically switched back to sympathetic, Doctor-mode.**

"**I don't know." She admitted softly. Wilson looked at her, head tilted slightly to the side, and she knew that he had seen her swap from being broken with worry and anger, to being professional, calm and honest.**

"**Right now, we can't know why House tried this. But they now how, don't they?"**

**Wilson nodded. "They said…they said he, uh…used a belt or something to hang himself from a rafter-"**

"**Oh my God." Cuddy said, and tears threatened to well up in her eyes. She blinked them back unashamedly. "But they found him, and he's okay?"**

**Wilson hesitated. "The doctor I spoke to said that he was stable. He's still unconscious." He looked at the clock on the wall, and then checked his watch, before looking back at her.**

"**They said I could visit." He told her, "They thought I might want to be there…when he woke up, and stay with him for a few hours. If you want to…I'm setting off in an hour. I could pick you up."**

**It took a few seconds of conflicting emotions before Cuddy made her decision. She nodded slowly.**

**The next hour passed in a complicated blur, a mess of trying to get things organized before her departure. She had left the hospital in record time, after arranging a new date for the postponed meeting. She had rushed to see Foreman, and told him that she had to go away urgently. He had asked why curiously; she had told him it was for a personal reason, and hadn't gone into any further detail. In about five seconds flat, he had agreed to look after the department for a couple of days.**

**Cuddy had then driven home, praying that she wouldn't get stopped as she broke the speed limit. She told herself she was overreacting; that House was alive, and there was no point in getting a ticket. The thought calmed her down and she managed to get home without getting stopped.**

**At five o'clock, Cuddy was outside of her house, with a small bag packed, when Wilson pulled up. She climbed into the passengers seat beside him silently, and pushed her bag down onto the floor.**

"**Ready?" He asked her. She nodded, and with a small jerk, the car slid away from the curb and they began to drive.**

"**Where's Rachel?" Wilson asked, glancing sideways at Cuddy, as if he imagined to see the baby tucked away in her bag. Cuddy smiled reluctantly.**

"**She's with the childminder until we get back tomorrow night. I've had to bump up her wages. It's going to cost me a fortune." Her voice was light and had an element of joking about it; it couldn't have contrasted more to the darkness of the situation . They both stopped talking, and silence once again filled the car.**

**It was a while later when Wilson next spoke.**

"**What do we do when we get there?" **

**Cuddy had been looking out of the window, at the lights of houses glowing in the darkening night as they drove by. She lifted her head from where it had rested against the cold glass window and instinctively touched her hair with her hand, smoothing it down.**

"**I don't know." She confessed. Her voice was no longer professional. It was weary, and revealed the worry that she felt inside; just because House was alive, didn't mean he was okay at all. Not by a long shot. She had butterflies in her stomach at the thought of seeing him, speaking to him. Part of her wanted to stop the car and make Wilson drive her back to the hospital immediately. **_**I shouldn't be doing this,**_** she thought, **_**I'm his boss, I've no right to see him.**_

"**Me neither." Wilson told her and he exhaled deeply. Cuddy felt a pang of sympathy for him; he had been through enough already in the last couple of years, what with Amber, and now he had to put up with this. Anger at House pricked her heart; **_**how could he do this?**_

**She had accidentally voiced this question aloud. The next thing she knew, Wilson was staring forward at the road, avoiding her gaze.**

"**I don't know. That's what worries me."**

"**What do you mean?"**

" **At first I tried to believe that this was just one of his games, some kind of trick, but…I realised that there was no purpose. And House might be an ass sometimes, but he wouldn't just do something like this without some kind of reason. He knows the after effects of when you lose somebody. He wouldn't cause it without a reason."**

"**So…"Cuddy trailed off. Wilson swallowed.**

"**Lisa…It wasn't a game he was playing, to make us all sick with worry. He hates it in there. He knows that this kind of thing isn't going to get him out any quicker."**

"**You mean-"**

"**He planned it. He hung himself outside on a veranda rafter, whilst he knew everybody else was in group therapy- he didn't intend to be found, Lisa. He intended to die." He stopped, changing gears. "He wanted to die."**

**Cuddy didn't reply. The tears welled up in her eyes once more, and she hated what Wilson was saying, but deep down, she had to admit that he was right, what he was saying was true. She had worried before about House being okay; now she knew he was as far away from being okay as possible.**

"**I'm sorry." Wilson apologised profusely. Cuddy looked over at him.**

"**I thought I better break it to you before we got there." He smiled apologetically at her. "It isn't going to be easy. When we get there."**

**Cuddy nodded. She was grateful for Wilson for being so honest to her. Anyone else might have tried to make the situation seem brighter than it was, but now, she found somebody giving her the no-frills truth more comforting.**

"**I just…I can't believe I didn't see this coming." Wilson admitted. Cuddy sat up straighter.**

"**It's not your fault. How could you have seen this? How could anybody?"**

**Wilson sighed.**

"**He called me. A couple of days ago. There was something different than usual…he didn't spend most of his time complaining about the place, and trying to force me into getting him out. He was quiet. Resigned. And I told him I was busy." Wilson laughed bitterly. "So maybe it is my fault. Maybe I could have seen this coming."**

**There was a silence. Cuddy reached over and squeezed his arm. He smiled at her gratefully.**

**Cuddy hesitated. **

"**Did he…was he…miserable…at Mayfield?"**

" '**Was'?" he repeated questioningly, but spared her as she opened her mouth silently several times. "He's been struggling. Making things a little hard for himself, with his treatment." **

"**No- **_**really**_**?" Cuddy said sarcastically, "**_**House**_**? Making things hard?" Wilson smiled at her through the dark. She smiled back at him. For a second, they weren't two people going to see their employee/friend after a failed suicide attempt.**

**The moment passed. **_**Everything passes**_**, Cuddy thought.**

_**Great. Now I'm thinking like House.**_

"**I should have gone to see him-"She began. Wilson cut her off.**

"**He wouldn't have let you see him. That's why I didn't visit. You know what he's like. He's vulnerable. If either of us had gone to see him, he would have been awful, trying to make himself feel better. " He coughed, and paused as he turned round a corner. Cuddy glanced at a sign in some hope of working out how far they were from Mayfield but they had passed it too quickly. "You know this, Lisa."**

**He leaned forward to peer through the windscreen, and the car suddenly slid to a stop. Cuddy looked over at him and he gave her a small half-smile, that failed to cover up how anxious he really was.**

"**We're here."**

**Cuddy's fiddled nervously with the strap of her bag, to calm herself down. It was impossible; she couldn't be any more jittery. Her palms were sweating, and she had knots in her stomach that she had been trying to get rid of the whole time after they had been let through the hospital gates and into the large, imposing building.**

**As they lurked silently in the lobby, Wilson tried to smile reassuringly at his companion, but it was a struggle to smile back at him. This wasn't like her, to be so nervous and scared. She could be professional, she could be calm, she could be sympathetic, or pissed off- but now, here at Mayfield, longing to be any of these things, she was scared. Scared of House- what he had done, how he would react to her being here… she felt like she was too immersed in this, in the situation, too involved to give in and get out of it. **_**I shouldn't be here**_**, she was still thinking as a man walked towards them. He wasn't wearing a white coat, and she couldn't clearly see the ID card hanging around his neck on a strap with keys attached to it, but Cuddy knew that he was a doctor.**

**He approached them quickly with a smile on his face. **_**What does he have to smile about? **_**Cuddy thought harshly but she still smiled back at him. **_**Hypocrite.**_

"**Dr Wilson, Dr Cuddy." He greeted them warmly and he shook both of their hands as he introduced himself.**

"**My name is Doctor Smith- I've been assigned to Mr House's case." **_**Mr House. It sounds so wrong, **_**Cuddy thought. **_**House would always be a Doctor, not a Mr.**_

"**How is he?" She heard Wilson asked and listened carefully for Doctor Smith's reply.**

**The man hesitated.**

"**Physically, he should be okay. He'll have some nasty bruising, but that's expected in a situation like this. Nethertheless, we'll be monitoring him in case he has a delayed reaction to today's…events."**

**Wilson nodded.**

"**Of course. Can we see him?"**

**Dr Smith nodded.**

"**Of course. But first, I'll need to speak to one of you about the possibilities of his release from Mayfield…amongst other things."**

"**You're releasing him?" Cuddy asked suddenly. Wilson looked over at her.**

**Dr Smith looked over at her too. "No, no, no- not for a definite amount of time yet. But we like prepare these things well in advance, so, Dr Wilson, if you would like to come through to my office…"**

"**Of course." Wilson nodded, and moved towards the door that the doctor had entered through. Dr Smith smiled at Cuddy slowly.**

"**Dr Cuddy, you are more than welcome to go and visit the patient. If you wish."**

**The nurse that showed Cuddy to House's room left soon after she had showed her to the door. Normally, Cuddy would have been wondering whether or not she had offended the girl with her nervous babbling on their way down the long lonely corridors, but she was too busy concentrating on what was about to come when she walked through the door and saw him-**

**She gave a sharp intake of breath when she finally saw him. He was the first thing she saw when she walked into the room; her eyes flickered over the pale cream walls, the oak varnished floor, but they always went back to the form huddled underneath the neat bed covers.**

**House. She couldn't remember ever seeing him like this, even the night he was taken to Mayfield. He was staring straight ahead at the wall opposite him; he didn't move at all, his hands unusually still as they lay by his side. His hair was shorter now, like it had been shaved off. **_**Was that by his own choice, or not? **_**Cuddy wondered. He had dark shadows under his eyes, and even from her odd angle by the door, she could see the dark, ugly bruises that marred the skin around his throat. He hadn't shaved, and he was wearing a strange, pea-green hospital robe, with a strip of plastic wrapped around his wrist. His eyes were open.**

**It wasn't the fact that his appearance had changed as much as the change in his behaviour; drooping shoulders, and a blank, dead expression. This wasn't the House that she knew, the House she argued with, and flirted with. This was different. He was broken. And in that moment she wanted to get the hell out of that hospital room. She didn't want to see what she couldn't fix.**

**Her exhalation brought his attention to the doorway with a jerk. His blue eyes met hers, and she searched for a shadow of the spark that usually glistened there. Nothing.**

**An odd look came over his face- anger? Embarrassment?**

**He opened his mouth slowly, and searched for the right words. She waited, her heart thumping uncontrollably.**

"**Hello, Cuddy."**


	3. Ignoring

**Quite a quick short chapter but there's much more to come- thanks to all of you who have been reviewing and adding to alerts,etc, it means a lot. Sorry for errors! Hope you enjoy and review!**

**xxx**

"Hello Cuddy." His voice was so familiar that relief crashed down in waves over her, although she managed to hide it from him. She ignored the differences in his tone, the dull, lifeless part that made her nervous.

"House." She said simply, but made no attempt to move towards him. He didn't look like this particularly bothered him, his eyes moving back silently to the wall opposite him. Minutes passed, the clock ticking rhythmically, as the awkward tension became unbearable.

Cuddy cleared her throat. House continued to stare at the opposite wall, ignoring her presence completely. When she walked in, she had seen something in his eyes that confused her, because she couldn't identify the nature of it. She had thought he would begin to speak, but other than his greeting, simple and polite, he remained still and quiet. Cuddy found herself looking down at him like a mother hen, peering down at her child in disappointment, as her impatience and anger multiplied.

"Is this it? You're just going to sit there and ignore me?" Cuddy asked him. She kept her voice low, and calm, but a hint of her annoyance mixed in. She knew that he had noticed, but he took his time answering. His shoulders were tense, and it seemed to be taking him a lot of concentration to keep his eyes firmly on the wall.

"If I ignore you, " He said, his gruff voice low, "You'll go away."

"I won't." She replied atomically. "You know I'm not going to leave."

"You will. You always do." He said simply, and rested his hands on his stomach. Cuddy felt a sudden urge to reach out and take his hand in hers. She resisted.

When she next spoke, she couldn't hide her confusion.

"What do you mean? House?"

He didn't answer. Sighing, Cuddy glanced towards the door, and wondered if Wilson was on his way. Part of her wanted him here to deal with this, the other wanted to make the most of this time alone with House, and try to understand him.

She moved closer to the side of his bed, and pulled the bedside chair over. His eyes jerked to her face, but suddenly moved back to the wall when she accidentally caught his eye. He seemed nervous, agitated; he was acting like he was scared. _Scared of what?_ Cuddy wondered. _Scared of me? Being here?_

Her eyes were drawn once again to the nasty bruises ringing his neck like a reminder of what he had tried to do. They made her feel sick, bringing up a feeling of repulsed relief at the thought of how the situation could have been a whole lot worse than it was now.

"Talk to me, House. Please." House ignored her words, and her pleading gaze. She reached out and rested her hand over his. His skin was cold. His eyes flickered to where her fingers wrapped around his, her skin paler and soft against the flesh of his hands. Still, he made no attempt to speak.

"I need to understand House. I can't do that unless you talk to me."

"You don't need to understand. You feel you have to, out of some kind of misplaced guilt." He blurted out, and although his words would have usually stung her, she was just relieved he was talking to her, however harshly.

"House. You could have died."

"Nearly dying changes nothing." He told her, and for the first time, he looked up deliberately into her eyes, and held her stare for what felt like minutes, but was actually just a couple of nervous seconds, before he ignored her again.

Cuddy felt her anger rising. She wanted to slap him, shake him, scream at him, but as she could no none of these things, she pulled back her hand. House jerked slightly as her skin left his, but made no comment.

"Why did you do it, House?" Cuddy's voice was whispered and low, as though they were children confiding secrets. This was so much more serious though. And she was so painfully aware of that fact it made her feel sick.

"I don't need to tell you anything." House's voice was suddenly harsh, and a little louder, echoing off the walls, "I've learnt that by now. If I ignore you, you'll go away. Which is exactly what I want."

Cuddy stood and moved away from him, pacing at the end of his bed. Her movement caught his eye as she walked past his staring line, and he began to silently watch her, drinking in the sight of her like she was water, and he was a man in the desert. When she next looked at him, she saw into him. She saw his hungry gaze, but it wasn't in his usual, stalker way of looking- it was memorising everything about her, like she was a hidden, guilty pleasure that might run at any second. He didn't seem ashamed that she could see how much he was looking at her. He didn't seem to care about what she thought at all. There was no life in his eyes, and he didn't give a damn. It made her furious with him once again, for putting her and Wilson in this position. She remembered the drive down to the hospital, remembering Wilson's revelations that had made her heart prick, but she couldn't control this fury. Sometimes he could bring out the best in her- more commonly, he could bring out the worst.

" Do you have any idea what I've gone through since I found out what you did?" She spat at him, "I dropped everything, my work, my daughter- I was sick with worry for you, and now I'm here, you just don't care. You couldn't care less, could you?" She exhaled and pressed her hand to her forehead, aware that he was still watching her. "You son of a bitch. I did not just drive up here on a trip that took God knows how long for you to lie there and not say anything. And I'm not leaving until you speak to me. Properly."

Silence passed. She glared at him, he watched her intently, a puzzled expression on his face.

"Cuddy…?" He began questioningly, but didn't continue. He was looking at her differently not, as if she was actually there, as if he wasn't just looking right through her. He opened his mouth as if he was going to speak, but the words wouldn't come, as he stared at her with some kind of horror.

"I'm…sorry. That you had to drive all this way, in the dark. Really." He told her, and his low voice was barely understandable but she could still hear the truth in his words, and all of her anger vanished. Her shoulders fell down, and she bit her lip.

"Talk to me. Please."

"I'm sorry you had to leave your daughter, and work at such short notice-"

"God, House, is that all you can think about?" She whispered, her voice horrified and disbelieving. He looked down at his hands. "You tried to hang yourself. We have been so worried- when I found out…" She moved away from him, tugging down the sleeves of her large black sweater to cover her hands. This was a sure sign she was uncomfortable. When she spoke, her voice was barely a whisper, as if she was hoping he wouldn't hear what she had to say, but felt the need to say it anyway. "I was so scared, House."

At first she hadn't known whether or not he had heard her, but his eyes flashed up to her face. His voice was thick was confusion.

"Why?"

Cuddy froze, frowning. _Did he really just ask me that? _She thought, but his startlingly blue eyes were fixed upon her waiting for an answer, so she knew that he had. She opened her mouth, and shut it helplessly, struggling for a reply. What could she say, to justify her fears, justify the fact that her fear and concern had gone way beyond that for a colleague? Instead, she took a leaf out of his book, and shut her mouth. Her feet were carrying her towards him, as she walked almost in a hypnotized, trance like state. When she was beside him, she sat, and he looked down at his hands. Cuddy wasn't in control any more, as her hand reached out, and gently touched the bruises on his neck.

House flinched and gave a hiss of pain; Cuddy found herself getting to her feet, and making calming noises to soothe him. She examined his neck carefully, and he let her. He was lucky to be alive. She traced her fingers over the skin beneath the bruises, the flesh that wasn't scarred with dark purple blotches, and her fingers cupped his neck, and pressed against the throbbing pulse points, like she was reassuring herself that he was alive.

After a minute, she began pacing again, and his eyes moved back to her. She didn't know if his gaze made her feel comforted or uncomfortable. Both, really.

She thought her pacing had calmed her down, and helped her to gain a little bit of control- when the words slipped out of her mouth next, it shocked her.

"Why, House?" He knew now that she wasn't talking about trying to kill himself. She was talking about the incident before he came to Mayfield. Her voice was low, and he could hear the pain her words contained as she remembered. "What made you say those things about...you and me-?"

"I'm sorry." He said dully, looking back at the wall.

"I don't need apologies, House." Cuddy told him, "I need an explanation. Why did you do it? Why did you have to go and spread rumours that made people look at me as if I was some kind of joke?"

"Oh, of course- lets get our priorities straight. " He spat at her, " I was about to carted of to the crazy farm, where I would stay, like a prisoner, but never mind, you had the much worse end of the deal-"

"You had no idea what it was like, being left behind when you went. " Cuddy told him fiercely, "Having people whispering as I walked past them, having my reputation damaged, remembering all those things that you said-"

"You have no idea what it was like for me!" House raised his voice , but still remained calm. "Being monitored every second of every day, not being allowed to go anywhere alone, being treated like a child-"

"So you tried to kill yourself? One little trip to rehab and you try to commit suicide?" Cuddy shouted. She pushed her hair out of her face. " I know you House. I bet you never even gave it a chance. You probably arrived and dismissed it, dismissed the doctors, because that's what you do. You push away the people that try to help you."

"_You've_ never tried to help me." He told her slowly, then corrected himself. "At least, that's the way you remember the incident." He instantly seemed to regret what he had said, as the words sank in.

Cuddy froze. House returned back to looking at the wall, fiddling with the bedcovers, like she had never been here. The silence fell in folds around them, like they hadn't just been shouting at one another a second earlier.

"What do you mean?" She asked.

"Nothing." House replied immediately; she shook her head slowly.

"No, House, you can't just say that and expect me to believe you. Tell me. Talk to me."

He ignored her, and after a few minutes, she gave up with a sigh, and turned away from him, looking up at the clock and trying to stop her tears from flooding onto her face. The silence was killing her. Suddenly, she opened the door, and stalked out of the room, away from House.


End file.
